2014.02.01 - Gettysburg!
July 4, 1863 - Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. General Lee's second attempt to invade the North ended in one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War. And in defeat. The casualties were enormous on both sides, although the Rebs could certainly afford it less than the Union. The wounded are in makeshift hospitals, usually comprised of tents, but the dead are everywhere. Bodies are laid out according to uniform color, mostly, as the burial details start on the laborious task ahead of them. There is one body that's causing a stir, however. Neither Union nor Confederate, it's the body of a woman. A petite brunette, one of the locals identifies her as Miss Jennie Wade, who apparently caught a stray bullet in the back. It was a civilian - the only civilian who'd died during the bloody battle, despite the constant street fighting throughout the town of Gettysburg. Apparently Jennie Wade had been fatally shot in the back while kneading dough, as judging by the white flour on her hands and the lamentation of people demanding that soldiers get -out- of the way so that she could be buried in 'a proper Christian manner.' The commotion draws the attention of one of the soldiers, a rugged tanned man with claw-scars marring his features. Approaching, irritable in the bloody aftermath of the three day clash that had claimed at least 51,000 casualties, Lt. Gilad Ambrose approaches, shoving his way brusquely towards the lamentation. "What's this?" he growls. "One of the townspeople, Jennie Wade. Apparently she got shot in the commotion. They want to bury her properly, but there's so many dead..." About to snap at the Union soldier for not following orders, Gilad abruptly pauses, as he studies the features of the dead woman. Something about her face... "Well then, separate her out from the rest of the dead, if she doesn't -belong- here!" Gilad growls. "At the least, allow her some dignity." Making arrangements to have her buried separately where the town normally buried their dead with a proper coffin, the Union lieutenant spins on his heels, walking off... ... and that night Gilad quietly, silently unearthing the grave of Miss Jennie Wade, with naught to light his vision save a small lantern. Miss Jennie Wade is still quite dead when her body is unearthed, but even in the dim light of the lantern Gilad's suspicions are confirmed. The features are that of the woman he met on the desert sands so many centuries ago. And while her clothing is indeed rent in the back from the large caliber bullet, there's only superficial bruising along her broken spine. They'd met on and off throughout the centuries since, sometimes on opposing sides, sometimes on the same side. Silently removing the body from the coffin, and quickly re-filling the grave, Lt. Gilad Ambrose moves quickly towards a barn abandoned a distance away, one abandoned by a farmer who'd had the wisdom to clear out of the town quickly when the Civil War had come to his doorstep. And thusly, Gilad waited, for Jacinthe to awaken... Dawn breaks, and with a loud gasp the woman's chest rises with the intake of breath. The magic remains true and life returns, pale features pinking up again as Jacinthe's medical status upgrades from 'dead' to 'asleep'. A few minutes later her eyelids flutter and open. Wary at first, a small smile touches her lips when she recognizes the face of the Union soldier. << Hello, Jacinthe, >> greets Gilad in French, if a bit warily. Sometimes foe, sometimes ally, and sometimes something that Gilad refused to acknowledge as anything more than maudlin expressions, it was anyone's guess how Jacinthe might react considering the -last- time they'd parted ways... Rather than dwell on the past, which was not the Eternal Warrior's way, Gilad simply inquires pragmatically, as one might ask about the weather or about family, << So what was it this time? Espionage? One of these... moments where you decide you want to see what it is like to live a civilian's life?" He spits out the word civilian as though it were a curse. << Hello, Warrior. >> she replies in the same language. Sitting up slowly, she arches her back and vertebrae crack loudly. Twisting slowly left and then right, there is more cracking before she relaxes again. << Does the Union Army know you rob graves as a hobby? >> Jacinthe quips back lightly. Gathering her feet under her skirts, the woman rises enough to test her legs as well. Continuing in French, she adds. << Thanks are in order, regardless. Digging up through six feet of dirt is messy business. And people are always surprised to see you. >> << Only the graves of other immortals, and only so questions don't get asked, >> Gilad replies, relaxing slightly as he regards Jacinthe with an expression that, to others, seemed to be his usual stone-faced glare, but to someone who'd seen the various expressions over the years, would be noted as something that was exclusive to Jacinthe... a 'soothed beast' sort of expression. << So which -was- it this time? >> the Warrior asks impatiently. << For the Confederate Army, or for the French government...? Or for yourself? >> Jacinthe regards him with mild amusement at his 'down-to-business' approach to their conversations. << I came over with the French envoy some time ago and settled in Charleston. When the war broke out I moved North in a 'forward reconnaissance' role. >> Yeah, she's a Reb spy alright. << But with Jennie Wade's untimely death, I will assume another name and face. >> Looking to him, her expression softens and she asks in English this time. "And what about you, Warrior? Still fighting the 'good fight'? I am weary of this conflict, myself. It makes so little sense. But your company would please me if you will be lingering." The amusement is met with more of the 'Jacinthe' glare, though Gilad would have cheerfully ripped off arms than admit to having something beyond 'duty'. Perhaps it serves only to encourage Jacinthe's approach towards the Warrior, as Gilad nods slowly. With her abilities, she could have easily slipped in and adopted an identity for a time. Of the previous occupants of her identities, he never asked, only of what she would be doing. "I still have battles to fight. These Americans... they fight for rights of sovereignty. As if one can decide who owns whatever property they can decide. Ultimately, it matters not, the war creates more innovation in the wake of death." Standing up, Gilad does not answer her question. But his action answers for him, as he joins her. The war could wait just a little bit, apparently. Especially after Gettysburg. The woman rises as well, smoothing down the front of her gown and subtly altering both the color and the style with the simple motion. "It is a dilemma they should resolve without our interference." she declares. "When I first joined the Confederacy it was over State's Rights, but nothing is that simple anymore." Slipping her arm through his, she smiles up at the taller man and asks. "What would you like for me to be, Warrior? Height, build, hair color, eye color. I can be anything you wish, since I can no longer be Miss Jennie Wade." Over the centuries, it'd always been somewhat tricky to identify Jacinthe. And yet, over time, something started to make it easier; the subconscious cues, whether it was a sly glance, or a rather brazen invitation and a smile, was taking over. That, and her tendency to be rather... touchy-feely, as though simply accepting his demeanor as part of him. Although there -were- the moments she was absolutely furious at -something- he couldn't make heads or tails of and simply dismissed as a womanly concern... which was why the question could -also- feel like a trap. And so Gilad considers this query, and when he asks, "Anything _I_ wish?", it's clear enough that he's surprised. As though if he answered that, it would be giving up a piece of his soul. But take her seriously he did, at least, after a moment, and he asks... "What were you like -before-?" Before immortality, before Camelot, before everything. It wasn't exactly a look into the past as much as a look into Jacinthe... "There was no 'before Camelot', Gilad." Jacinthe replies. "But this is as close as I come to it." Her features shift, becoming a bit sharper. Hair thickens, becoming longer as well. Between five and a half and six feet tall, she would have been considered 'statuesque' in Arthur's court. The curves gentle, yet still shapely. And her dress adjusts to flatter her figure to the fullest. After a moment's study, Gilad nods. It's not the way a man looks at a woman, or the way a strategist studies a map, but something more frank, as though another piece has fallen into place in a puzzle, one that'd taken centuries to assemble. The Eternal Warrior grunts. "Be as you want, then," he says. It made no difference, really... after the countless alterations over the years, the different confrontations, one thing remained, whether Jacinthe appeared as a blonde, a brunette, a male, a woman... underneath it all, in all her facets, it remained Jacinthe, the eternal acolyte of Morgan. And rather than dwell on the labyrinth myriad twistings that was Jacinthe and why she would request that of him, Gilad comments, in what may have been the first actual compliment coming from him towards her that was not combat-related: "You look good." And somehow, the centuries lends that more weight than a simple observation of her ancient self. Her fingers move over his forearm, light and yet firm at once. She leans in briefly to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Warrior. And will you be keeping your Lieutenant's bars to return to duty later?" It's an innocent enough question, perhaps, until one considers that she can make -him- appear however he wants as well. "Either way, I would be pleased to share breakfast with you. I doubt there's a roadside inn with much food left, considering the armies and the wounded, but we can find something." The 'Jacinthe' look almost dissolves into a smile. Almost. But to one used to his ways, it might as well -have- been a full-blown one, as Gilad did not, for once, free himself of the hold that the woman had on him. "Just a few hours of playacting as a civilian?" Gilad asks, though they both knew well that she had won a promise of a respite from battle out of the Eternal Warrior. "We'll find something, then. I saw a bed and breakfast inn on the other side of the inn. If you want to partake..." She smiles warmly at his suggestion, and with a shift of her fingers his uniform melts into a more proper suit. Jacinthe does very little else to obscure his appearance, mostly just covering the scars and a couple of other small touches. "That sounds like a wonderful idea. A small island of peace and quiet. Just like Italian Renaissance, no?" Peace was an uncomfortable notion for an Eternal Warrior, but not something unwelcome after Gettysburg. And after so much death, maybe it -was- time to affirm something about life... and with another immortal. "You're being maudlin again," Gilad rumbles deeply, though not very harshly, doing little to resist the small tug on his arm as he... doesn't quite lead the way to the inn as much as simply stride side by side. And if she felt just a bit of tightening of his arm locking around her grip, she would be wise not to say anything. Jacinthe laughs softly at his accusation, but she lets it pass. No sense bringing up TOO many details of past conflicts, after all. "Maudlin? Surely not." she replies, giving only token protest. Walking together, she doesn't resist the tightening grip and changes the subject. "I don't believe the South will have the resources to attempt another offensive like this." "Not with the North's superior numbers they do not," Gilad replies, the warrior in him only too glad to seize on a subject that he -could- communicate well enough. Fist and steel, not satin and lace. "The sooner the Union find a general who recognizes that and spends resources to commit unrelenting assault and wear out the South's limited armies, the sooner the war will end. And then it will be on to the next battle, though that will take place in the halls of bureaucrats and politicians." Making a face, Gilad regards Jacinthe. "I find that to be no place for me. Perhaps the west coast of this nation will be where the next true war is to be fought." The woman shakes her head slowly. "When the North wins, the next challenge will be to heal the wounds of this war. Not only were the states divided, but in many cases were houses and families divided. It will take years for the nation to come back together. And that is not a battle for us." Walking a few more paces together, she declares. "It has been some time since I've set foot on English soil. I wish to do so again." And there it was. She would be headed for Europe. And Gilad would continue to fight the eternal fight. Likely out west, judging from the cryptic hints the Geomancer had made to him. "I see," he says in that tone that indicates that he disagreed, but did not want to waste time on a pointless battle. Though whether that was over her first statement or her last, well... he wasn't saying. And as if to avoid that particular battle, Gilad simply opens a new front: "When will you leave, then?" Walking along, they turn the corner and start towards the Inn. The woman shrugs lightly. "Sometime after breakfast but before the next moon." she replies dryly. "The world is getting smaller, Gil. Travel takes much less time now, even over the oceans. Railroads could link Europe to Asia, the West Coast of America to the East Coast." "Such thoughts are for dreamers," Gilad responds in kind. "Whatever happens, happens. Our paths usually crosses, though not for very long." For so many reasons, one supposes. Duty, conflict, disagreements... and above all, there would always be war. Peace, as not yet found for the warriors... And it -might- be just a maudlin thing, but Gilad didn't sound all that pleased about the prospect about 'not for very long.' A few more paces follow. "England is not far from Boston by steamer." Jacinthe declares, drawing a bit closer to her point. "Are you familiar with the concept of the warrior-poet, Gilad? The Scots embodied that ideal, and in doing so they retain their legal separation from England to this day. It's not that they ever forgot about fighting, more that they remembered what they were fighting -for-." Once Gilad might have scorned such a concept. And then came the Geomancers, guiding the Fist and Steel. And other immortals. And Jacinthe. "Yes. Although I would not sing warrior songs." Gilad admits, having lost much of the scorn he had for the non-martial arts in his voice that he might have had a thousand year ago. "Shout them, perhaps..." he admits dryly, a surprising comment, perhaps, for one who'd never really taken Gilad for a joking type. That this was being said to -her-... And then Gilad takes note of the earlier comment, about how things were not that far. Of course things were not that far, but why did she feel it necessary to say that? He considers the thrust of Jacinthe's words, and... "Are you suggesting I should -visit- you?" They'd always simply converged, interacted, and gone their separate ways, in the past. This... was new. Jacinthe chuckles softly when he mentions -shouting- warrior songs, but she's not surprised. "I am merely suggesting that a visit would not require a long trek like it once would have." the woman replies. "And I am -saying- that I would welcome your company, even. It is not accidental that our paths have crossed so often." Reaching the Inn, she assumes a more passive role and lets him 'lead' the way inside. "You will go where your calling takes you, of course." she amends. He'd never really considered such a thing in -centuries-. Oh, there was the time he'd tried to give up the life, and just settle down and have children... withdrawn from the life, and starting to grow old like any mortal man once again. But he couldn't, an ordinary life just wasn't for him. And yet, Jacinthe had given him something to chew on, something worth considering. And so as he open the door, Gilad replies: "... For now." No promises, of course, just a door opening... Category:Log